Meanwhile, within the hole in the wall, down tunnels that twisted and turned and smelled of roots crawling with trapdoor spiders...
Where small singing fuzzy moles that looked like miniature elephants huddled ,shivering, around the large underground pond that was now covered in ice...
And down two flights of craved out stairways, things were bustling in Fraggle Rock for a group of fraggles.
This would not have been anything out of the ordinary for the small furry creatures that loved to run and play and swim more than anything in the universe, if it wasn't for the fact that it was the middle of winter and the room where all the fuss happened to be coming from was the kitchen, not the ice skating path.
Boober took a deep breath, readying himself as his unseen gaze under his bright feather like red hair fixed itself on some point before him.
"Oven mitts." He said in a flat serious voice of an army commander.
"Oven mitts!" Gobo replied, as he slipped the one yellow radish print oven mitt onto one of Boober's hands, and Wembley mirrored him on the other side of their friend.
"Mask."
"Mask!" Wembley replied cheerfully, slipping what like a beekeepers hood made out of fine hand-woven mesh over Boober's head.
"Stick!" Boober added lastly, reaching out his oven mitted hands.
"Stick..." Gobo replied with a reluctant tone as he slowly handed over a worn looking hockey stick, polished with age, stopping halfway though "Are you sure this won't hurt Susabell?"
"Gobo I swear your stick will be fine! It's for the greater good..and it's non-acidic." Boober added .
" Really? Well, I guess, when you put it that way..." Gobo mumbled handing other his beloved possession.
"Your hockey stick is simply the only thing long enough for this noble endeavor..."
Boober tapped the side of the giant bowl in front of the three with a nod.
It was easily three fraggles wide and two fraggles deep, and was filled to the brim with a thick mixture the color of cinnamon, that now and then let out a menacing bubble.
"But why's your in..dev..er have to be in such a big bowl anyway?" Wembley asked, already on his tiptoes and halfway reaching out a finger toward the dough before Boober poked his hand away mid-taste test.
"Yeah Boober, what's with all the cooking in bulk eh? " Gobo tipped his head to the side, looking a bit distracted. "If you hadn't asked us to help you make so much I could have been getting Uncle Matt's..."
Boober lowered down the front mesh of the mask and twisted the edges of his mitts as he gripped the stick, with a rare glint of determination showing in the firmly truned down edge of his mouth.
"Guys, sometimes a fraggle has to do what a fraggle has to do, now grab a leg and stir!"
Moments later the bright happy, if a bit cold sounding vioce of Red fraggle could be heard, taking the stars two at a time ahead of her body.
"Hey Gobo, the northern sweetwater lake froze over last night! You wanta see my double twist..." Red, dressed head to toe in shaves , her favorite hat, and a shiny pair of red ice skates, came to a shocked skidding stop. "What in the wide space are you three doing?"
Both Gobo and Wembley now stood on top of a wide, shaky looking step ladder, propped up against the side of bowl, each tightly griping the leg of the much smaller Boober and whipping him slowly from side to side as he mixed the concoction in brisk circles with the hockey stick, flinging spatters of it upward like gooey rain.
"I'm making Knackengoocans." Boober yelled down simply.
"Knaken whatas ?" Red asked, starting to skate in lazy loops around the outter rim of the cooking cave.
"Darned if we know." Gobo interjected with shrug, as they both set Boober back down on the ladder with a groan and sat, exhausted.
"Yeah, one moment, we've just walking along on the way to get our stakes and then bam! Boober grabs us and says he'll give us peppermint doozer stick twists..."
Wembley explained, licking a tick red stick he suddenly produced from somewhere in the depths of his banana tree shirt.
"It is real good though..."
"I know can't be real good for sure," Red said with a self righteous nod, skating to the left. " ...whatever Boober's got in that bowl..."
"...Even if it is so big." Red continued, skating back to the right as she leaned part of her weight on her tail. "Sheesh, you could make a Giant Slurp hot tub out of that thing!"
Boober followed the restlessly moivng form of Red from where he now sat on a ladder step and cut in with a sigh.
"Red, Red, Red, I have to make enough for everyone !"
Boober zipped off to a tucked away corner and came back with a huge difficult looking book in tow, opening it to a well worn place and sticking it under Red's nose. The sudden onslaught of written words sent the young fraggle falling backwards with a yelp as Boober began to rammble.
" It's the traditional northern rock antifreeze food. First, you stir it twenty times wearing yellow mittens, then make them into shoes shapes, and stuff them with chokeberry jam canned on the 5th thursday of last sping, while wearing them, and spinning in circles reciting the traditional Prayer of The Winter Goddess…."
"What makes you think we're going to do any of those crazy things?" Red remarked, rubbing her behind as she got up.
" Since when did you get so traditional anyway?"
"Yeah Boober, I don't remember you ever saying anything.." Gobo reahed out to help Red to her feet on the icey patch of floor. "… about something like this before …"
Wembley nodded in agreement. "..and we've known you practically forever!"
"Everyone, don't you remember what happened last year?"
Boober shouted, his voice growing more and emotional with each passing word.
"We were frozen solid for a whole two mintues before Gobo rang the bell!"
The three other fraggles drew back from Boober's well known "ranting voice".
"Do you have any idea what that does to a fraggle glandular system?"
"Wait, um..Boober…" Wembley began, still chewing on his peppermint doozer stick with a rare look of thoughtfulness on his face. "If we were all really frozen how could you tell how long…?"
"..Not to mention the month needed to restore proper blood flow to the tail…" Boober concluded, not seeming to hear Wembley's question.
"It sounds like a bunch of huey to get us to eat another one of your half baked recipes if you ask me." Red said, playfully skating around the room and pulling at Gobo's stocking cap so leaned to one side as she went pass. " It'll probably kill us before it does any good."
"Yep, probably." Wembley agreeed, at the same time reaching out, slowly, carefully toward the overflowing batter on the side of the bowl with a finger.
"Oh, no no no." Boober said, rapping Wembley's hand yet again away from his materprice. "…they'll be fully baked and I can promise you…"
Boober rooted around in the oven and came back with a bubbling pot that brimmed with green luquid the texture of oatmeal.
Fling all the criticism you want to, you'll find no rigor mortis in my stew.
His friends sniffed it and fell over gagging.
Though our tastebuds may not always see eye, I can tell you something:
A hum grew up from the cupbaords as living samples of Boober's cakes, soufflés, and pies, started a 50's rock and rock chorus.
My food won't make you die!
A trayal of giant ants suddenly made their way across the kitchen courtar, all wearing hats and scarfs, and sang as they quickly started to carry the food away.
(Won't make you die!)
Say's you! Red remarked, aiming a snowball at one of the ants.
(Won't make you die!)
The snowball missed and landed in the stew, cousing a wave of it that splashed on Gobo, who overacted like he had been shot and fell to the floor with a gasp.
Morris's allergic to cucumbers.
Morris came by being carried on a stearer and holding a pickle, before Boober snatched it away.
Henchy to beets.
Henchy walked by chewing a beet and shrugged, seeming perfectly normal, as he turned his backside could be seen completely bald of fur.
Yams give Tosh big fat feet!
Tosh was carried by sitting on two of the giant ants as they carried her, waving her feet, each the size of a dinner plate.
All this keen observation is why, I know, I know, I know you won't die!
Boober poked a finger at Red's muzzle from other his thick book.
On this you have my satisfaction guarantee, wherever you get your food poisoning, it won't be from me!
Because my my my, food won't make you--!"
"Red?..." Boober's song came to a screeching ending mid- song as he reached an arm out to grab her sweater sleeve.
"Did you say it was cold enough to freeze over the northern lake out there..right now?"
"Yeah..why? Are you going to stop being a stick in the mud and ice skate this year?" Red asked.
Boober slowly put the giant cookbook that was nearly as big as him away in a chupbroad before speaking again, his voice low and measured.
"No..no…I like my mud just fine. I was only wondering…You know, maybe we should let this congeal for a while.."
He tapped the bowl and it bubbled as if in agreement.
"I..could use another frozen radish for texture…"
"I'll go with you, the tunnel is extra slipperly today!" Red laughed skating ahead.
Gobo shugged and started to trail after her.
"Ah well, I'm already late getting the mail anyway.. Say, where's Mokey?"
"Oh, she went up to see the Trash Heap, she'll want come to though…" Red shouted back at the three. "Better sing the thumping song extra loud today Wembley!"
"Who me? Really?" Wembley said, perking up.
"Susabell won't mind that much." Gobo agreed, carefully handing over the newly de-gooed hockey stick.
"Whoppie!" Wembley wooped, turning the handle up and beginning to beat it against the ceiling of the tunnel to a very slow, steady beat...